


Sobriety

by e_wills



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_wills/pseuds/e_wills
Summary: Snotlout reflects on why drinking is more pain and trouble than it's worth.





	Sobriety

Snotlout missed ale: the way it sloshed in his mug, the pungent foamy head, the ease with which it went down and sat warm and comforting in his stomach. He loved the buzz it gave—the pleasant fog that smoothed over conversations and insecurities—that lightened up the evening when it veered into doldrums.

How many weeks had it been now? Four? Five? He measured time between first and last night going to bed alone. Tuffnut was counting, heckling him all the while, tempting him with ale or wine, knowing full well that water did not comparably satisfy. Snotlout didn’t want to know the number of days passed. In the end, it didn’t matter. His sobriety never lasted; it only postponed his suffering by substituting it for a lesser kind.

Hiccup was the tactful one. He never commented on Snotlout’s transient clarity and self-awareness. While the others remarked or scoffed, passing drinks around the table, Hiccup did not ask or opine. He mostly took sudden interest in Toothless or Astrid while the others prodded and pried. One could almost think he was oblivious, save for how he was uncharacteristically tight-lipped and un-opinionated, meeting his cousin’s eye before burying his thoughts in his own mug.

“Ready to go?” Astrid asked, gently touching Hiccup’s shoulder.

They rose from the table together with absurd synchronicity. Was that what five years did to a couple—solder their brains together until they were one creature? They exchanged  _that look_ : the one Snotlout had never seen in his lover’s eyes; the one he never mirrored. Warmth, tenderness—vicarious emotions felt through squinting eyes as Berk’s golden lovers left the Great Hall, dragons in tow. No one questioned; no one remarked on it. Hiccup and Astrid: established, accepted, so gods damned  _privileged_  as to leave together utterly shameless. Whispers didn’t follow. No daggers of scrutiny were thrown at their backs. Not anymore.

Gods. Snotlout was too sober. His own reflection seemed to mock him now, leering up from his relatively untouched water.

If anyone asked, it wasn’t because he had a drinking problem. He knew how to quit ale. He didn’t need the bottom of a empty mug to tell him he’d had enough. His affliction was of a different kind; the ale just made it easier. He drank, he forgot. He drank, he was invincible. As his head started swimming, his heartache was ignored for blue eyes and long blonde hair. Ale drowned the sting of a lover’s hangover for the vague memories of bare skin, sweat, and bed of furs. Headaches and heartaches came in the morning. Regrets and promises to his wounded pride that he’d never do it again. Resist the ale, resist the disappointment and shame. No more enticing compliments. No more fervent groping behind the boathouse.

He was sober. He wouldn’t ask her to come home with him, and she wouldn’t take advantage. He was sober. He wouldn’t cast his heart into the fire again. He was sober. He wouldn’t find himself denying the tears dripping into his palms as he hid his face. He told himself maybe this time, it would stick; maybe this time, he would learn.

But she looked at him. She smiled—thin, calculating. His heart leaped and winced, like dancing with a sprain. The others were gone. He toed a precarious ledge with nothing between them but water and ale. His heart cried out plaintively for her not to ask, feeble. Silent. Her desire was too loud.

Ruffnut patted the seat beside her and Snotlout noticed the extra mug beside her. Untouched. Pristine. Inviting.

She said, “Baby, come over.”

His stomach did a somersault, but his feet moved of their own accord. Because his sobriety was transient; and he’d find tomorrow’s excuses at the bottom of a drink or two.

**Author's Note:**

> I do this for free! If you liked it, leave a kudos! Comments are even better! ;) 
> 
> I'll even take an incoherent mashing of keys.


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